Reality
by Felineyx
Summary: Callie thinks she's the last survivor in England. But after such a long time alone, your mind can start playing tricks on you...


I always thought that Manchester would be beautiful without the people. Sometimes, I'd sit in Piccadilly and close my eyes, pretending that there was nobody there/ But inevitably, I had to open my eyes and move out of the way of another irate traveller. Now though, I sit and wish for all the people to come back. If I sit there for long enough, I can hear the hustle and bustle of people going by; convince myself that this was all just a bad dream.

The infection spread quickly here. The screams of the infected ring in my ears, the memories of people running for the trains and any chance of escape plays across my vision, time and time again. The streets here are bare of rubbish, the trees overgrown and a startlingly vibrant shade of green. The only sounds are the faintest breath of wind coupled with my own pounding heartbeat. This truly is a god-forsaken place.

I open my eyes and move away from the railings. I have a job to do today, and living in my thoughts and memories is not going to get that job done. I head towards my car – beat up and small, but speedy and good for getting me out of tight situations. As I near it, I hear static emitting from the radio; same as always. Every day, I switch the radio on in the vain hope that there might be another survivor out there, that I might not be completely alone.

I speed off, leaving a cloud of dusty smoke behind me. The tyres squeal like newborn pups. The drive relaxes me somewhat, and I slide a CD into the machine, singing along to every song. It isn't like there's anyone else around to hear me. Often though, I wish there was. As the next song comes on, I smile wryly, cranking up the volume another notch. "It's the end of the world as we know it."

Twenty minutes and what would normally have been a speeding ticket later, I reach my destination. It might well be my final destination, so I take a moment to drink in my surroundings. I look at the pavements where the heat rises, at the cracks between slabs where weeds force their way through like a crazed fan in a large crowd. I take a deep breath, savouring the sweet smell of the flowers and then cowering away from the overbearing, unmistakable stench of infection and death. I try to avoid looking at all the rusty cars parked in the car park, knowing that they will be there for a good while yet, conceivably forever.

The sun begins to dip towards the horizon and I decide to make my move. I have a strong feeling that there is a hive of dark seekers (or zombies, as I prefer to call them) hiding away in here. The thought that I once promised myself I would never come to this place willingly surfaces, but I push it back down quickly. Now is not the time for petty football rivalries.

My steps are as quick and quiet as I can make them, and yet they still echo in the silent car park. I do my best to avoid walking in the shadows, but it is impossible near a stadium of this size. I flick on the torch – such a pathetic protector! If they want me badly, the zombies will come for me, torch or no torch.

I weave through the turnstiles quickly, finding my way out onto the middle of the pitch and flicking off the torch. The atmosphere I remember from these types of places almost overwhelms me. Then I hear the rattle of the zombies; I know for certain that they are here. Now I just need a plan.

"Stupid girl," I chastise myself. "You had no reason to come here, other than to satisfy your own curiosity. You always forget that it was what killed the cat." I get so caught up in my annoyance that I fail to see the man walking across the field towards me. As I turn round, he breaks into a jog. "I am not alone," I whisper to myself, lurching towards him.

As we meet, he draws me into a deep embrace. Even how it feels to be hugged is now an alien concept to me, and I pull back quickly, squinting at his face. A cloud momentarily covers the sun and my heart speeds up. The ring I still wear feels heavier on my finger. It is Kai. He came back for me, just as he always promised he would.

"Callie, my love," he whispers into my ear. "How I've missed you."

"And I you," I reply. "Where have you been? How did you survive? Are you alright?" I am burning with questions.

"Later. Look, the sun is almost gone." I turn around, amazed. How did so much time pass? I thought I had another hour at the very least. I open my mouth to ask Kai, only to find him gone. As if he'd faded away.

"Kai? Where are you?" I look around, my voice escalating to a shriek. "This isn't funny!" I need to get out of here, but I can't – won't – leave Kai behind. I won't have my sweet, caring husband turned into a zombie with a one-track mind.

A hand taps me lightly on the shoulder, and I jump round, barely suppressing a scream. A zombie. It was standing right behind me and yet I had no idea it was there. I flick the torch on again, but nothing happens. Of all the days to forget the spare batteries, I had to pick today.

I look at the zombie properly. Its face, emaciated and disfigured as it is, looks as though it was once handsome; its eyes look as though they were once overflowing with kindness and love. There is still some humanity left in the features, and with that I know that I cannot kill this creature. It roars at me, and in the expression I see Kai. This monster is my Kai.

"I am too late then," I murmur. "There is nothing left in this world for me." Earlier, I was so sure that Kai was there, but now…I don't know. Perhaps I imagined it all. Perhaps I am already dead, and this is hell. Whichever it is, I need to get out of here quickly. Hanging around to find out is not an option.

In a split second, my choice is made. I will try to outrun them, try to get home even though the chances of making it are slim and the chances of losing the zombies on the way are slimmer still. But Kai would want me to live and die trying, and that is what I will do. "For you, Kai," I say, and then run.

* * *

**A.N. This was my English coursework based on a British survivor's story. **


End file.
